Andre Norton - Ciara's Song

“Yes. Not the Horning again, but the result is likely to be the same. They, offer half the goods of any found to be of the Old Race and practicing witchcraft, to those who denounce them.”

Trovagh was startled. “But that’s wicked. They’ll have half of the land denouncing the other. A good number of people have that blood. Any can add an accusation of spell-casting. How will they judge?”

Ciara’s voice was dry. “Probably by how much those denounced can contribute to the duke’s coffers. I smell Kirion’s hand in all this. He knows who and what I am.”

Trovagh grinned suddenly, “I don’t think he’ll even look at Aiskeep, dear heart. He’s your grandson. If he allows you to be denounced, he names himself. From what Geavon writes Kars is rapidly becoming hysterical on the subject. I wonder just how safe even Kirion may be.”

Kirion, too, was wondering of recent weeks. It seemed that one could start a fire that was far harder to put out again. He sat glumly in his room at the palace worrying. It had seemed such a good idea when he began it. Now it looked possible even he could come under suspicion. He hadn’t bargained for that. He’d better work out a way to decrease the hysteria. He worked hard most of that winter. He succeeded eventually in convincing Shandro that the idea was not to wipe out all those with any ability.

No, far better to get them under the duke’s hand. Use them to aid Kars. It took time but at last he was able to persuade the duke into revoking the law. Kirion took over the lists as yet unused. There were sure to be a scattering of those who were genuinely of the Old Race. He scanned the lines of names. He’d find those, then wring from them any indication of their abilities. Their families would stand hostage.

Here and there, he did find a man or woman of the Old Blood. None of the pure line but occasionally one of part-blood who had chosen to remain.

It did Kirion little good. The less of the blood, the less chance that they’d be of use. Most of those he found practiced healcraft in some way. That was not what he wanted. Where they had money he saw to it they vanished. His pockets were filling, as was Kars’s treasury. But it gained Kirion no power. He knew an old poisoner in the lower city who could do more than any of these pathetic remnants of the Old Race. He decided to move more openly against Aiskeep in ways they would find it harder to counter. He chose a man of Shandro’s clan to make the offer. A very carefully chosen man.

The messengers arrived the day after Aisling’s sixteenth name day. Trovagh watched as Ciara read the beautifully penned letter. Her eyes blazed in disgust as she turned to him.

“Ruart! I’d rather give her to a pig. You’ll tell him no, of course?” Trovagh hesitated and his wife stared at him.

“Tro? You aren’t going to agree, you can’t!”

“Don’t be a fool. No, I wouldn’t dream of agreeing, but look at the consequences. We can’t say the girl is too young. She’s sixteen. Kirion knows that even if Ruart doesn’t. So what do we say. A flat refusal is likely to bring half of Ruart’s clan about our ears at the insult.”

“Say she’s sick, loose of morals, mad, or promised elsewhere. Anything, Tro. But she doesn’t go to that man. He’s the one Geavon told us about two years ago when all that witchcraft fuss was stirring in Kars. I will not have Aisling wed a man of that sort even if the girl would agree. And as yet she’s shown no sign of looking at any man with much interest.”

“I agree, but we must move carefully,” Trovagh said quietly. “One thing, too. It’s to my mind that we should bring Keelan into this discussion. We made him Keep Heir over a year gone. Aisling is his sister, and he has a right to know what is asked and by whom.”

“This offer was probably instigated by his brother anyway. Yes, Tro. Call him.”

Keelan came,read the letter in silence, then stared at the fire. It was a fair offer if you disregarded the character of he who made it. Aisling was offered honorable marriage into a powerful clan. They’d accept her with only a small dowry, and they offered several sweeteners for the contract. And if she gave Ruart a son, she was then free to depart should she choose to do so. With her would go a large sum of money as largesse for the clan heir. That last was supposed to help convince Keelan.

Persuade your sister, pressure her if need be. And we’ll make you rich in a couple of years. It was well worded, of course. It could equally read that they’d let Aisling free if she wished once she’d given the clan an heir. The coin was to support the heir’s mother in her old home once she returned there. That was what Ruart would claim was intended if he was challenged.

Ruart. A crony of Kirion’s but almost ten years older, he must be around thirty-five by now. Keelan had seen more of the man than he’d wished in Iren Keep. Not a nice type.

Then, too, there was that business Geavon had mentioned. Keelan remembered thinking at the time that no matter how it had been covered over, he’d wager it had been true. But if they simply refused the offer for Aisling a storm would be raised. Ruart would demand a good reason. What could they say—we’d rather cut Aisling’s throat than throw her into your bed?

He grinned; he could imagine what Aisling would say if she saw Ruart, too. His head jerked up.

“I have an idea. I don’t think it will put him off forever, but it can buy us time. Grandmother, would you be fit to ride to Kars?” His face became solemn. “After all, Aisling has been reared here in the provinces. She should know her prospective betrothed before any contracts are signed.” His voice became meaningful. “Perhaps he should meet her as well.”

The two faces opposite him crinkled into identical grins. “You mean Ruart may not like a wild, uncouth girl from the far South?” Trovagh asked.

“Either that or we can hold him off with tales of improving her. More—um—Kars city polish?” Keelan assured him grinning.

Ciara smiled at them both. “It may work, but we’d have to tread a fine line between disgusting him, and angering him to where he’ll take her from spite to teach her once she’s in his hands.” She flattened her palm against the stone wall behind her. “If all else fails, we can stand siege. Aiskeep has outlasted many of those across the centuries.”

“We stay with old Geavon, I presume?” Trovagh queried thoughtfully.

“We do; write him now, love. Get the message off as fast as you can. As for Ruart, we can delay a few days before his messengers will grow too impatient. We have to play for time. Every move must be drawn out as far as possible. With luck, Ruart will become bored and drop the idea. We may find a way to refuse without war. Just let us buy time.”

They did so. It was high summer before they arrived in Gerith Keep to an enthusiastic welcome from Geavon. Once the first excitement was done he looked at Aisling. Hmm. Her looks certainly wouldn’t put Ruart off the wedding. Aisling was slender, as lithe and supple as Ciara had been at that age. Like Ciara, the girl had eyes of a warm hazel. Her hair was a curtain of brown. An odd shade. There was fire under the darker hue. Her face was rounder than that of Ciara, but she had her grandmother’s long, swinging stride. The walk of a girl who was fit and healthy.

Keelan hadn’t enjoyed the journey. He was too worried about Shosho. She’d vanished just before they left. Old Hanion had promised to look for her, and care for her once she was found, but Keelan was still worried. She was four and had never bred. What if she had chosen now to do so? She might need him. A cat took only a couple of months to bear her kittens. He’d still be here in Gerith Keep until long after that. Damn Ruart, and damn Kirion, who was undoubtedly behind it all. When would the eager bridegroom appear so they could get on with the farce?